


Be There

by ArtsyAfrodite, lostyourwar



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Challenge - Fic!February, Gallavich, Headcanon, M/M, Season 1 Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:37:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostyourwar/pseuds/lostyourwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian didn’t think Mickey’s text of “b there” meant he’d actually be there right when he needed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be There

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a giant ASS for forgetting to post this. I was supposed to post this like last month or something (probably later), and it fell off of the radar. I wrote this with Nataly (lostyourwar), and now I don't think she even does AO3 anymore, but I'm posting this anyway for Fic!February. This is for her. :)

It comes as a surprise.  
  
He’s tossing and turning in his bed, the way he’s been doing since that day Ian came to take back Kash’s gun, when his phone buzzes beneath his head.  It’s a weird little iPhone knock-off he jacked from some prick who tried to sell him shitty weed, and he apparently beat enough logic into the fat fuck’s head because it’s still working.  He pulls it out from beneath his pillow and the brightness momentarily blinds him.  When his eyes adjust, he peers at the tiny screen.  
  
The sender is titled “METH N COKE”, though only as a precaution, were Terry to find and look through the thing.  Honestly, Terry’s too fucking old and broke to work a phone, but Mickey can’t take any chances.  He opens the text message, and bites his lip indecisively as he reads it.  
  
 _“I need U”_  
  
He knows he shouldn’t – shouldn’t answer the kid’s messages at two in the morning so as not to encourage that type of behavior, shouldn’t keep letting himself get pulled in by those sad fucking puppy eyes, shouldn’t want to fuck him at two in the goddamn morning when his whole body is aching – but he’s already slipped into his pants and is smacking around the dark room trying to find his shoes.  
  
He’s barely got his coat tossed on when he remembers to type back (and this takes him a while because the screen is fucking puny).

_“b there”_  
  
And then he’s practically running, body trembling, heart beating so fucking hard in his chest he feels sick.  But he’s smiling and he needs to tone that shit down before he gets there.  
  
Before he sees him.

But he doesn’t.

Toning down isn’t Mickey’s style – anyone who knows him understands this.  He’s blatant and impulsive, impetuous and _needy_.  Ian’s intentions in his text, between the words, “I need u,” are clear.  Something is needed, because something is missing.  Mickey knows the feeling, having been empty since the last time the kid burrowed inside of him, mapping trails he was certain he’d visit again.  _Fuck_.  His smile isn’t going anywhere.  Ian’s tracks are far from weathering.

Mickey’s a lost cause.  By the time he reaches the Gallagher house, his chest is heaving, his lungs heavy and hurting from not practically, but full-on running to meet him, that giddy smile struggling to hide behind the façade of lips forced into a serious line.  Ian’s sitting on the bottom step of the Gallagher house, smoking a cigarette like his next breath depends on it.

They’d only fucked once, but Mickey was as good as gone from the moment he tore Ian’s shirt off, palms sweaty and that deep rooted, secret need steadily growing where Terry’s voice wasn’t loud in the back of his head.

Ian looks at him, his eyes wide and somewhat expectant, while simultaneously hesitant as Mickey sits next to him.  “Not here,” Ian says as they both stare at the yellow light cast on the walkway from the shitty porch light.  They need something to focus on, other than their nerves.

“Where?” Mickey asks, not caring about the location of their encounter, but just about the fact that it’s happening.  Where could be _anywhere_.

“Follow me,” Ian says as he stands, throwing the butt of his cigarette on the ground.  He snuffs it out with his boot, and beckons with his head for Mickey to follow him.

Mickey would be a liar if he said his heart wasn’t skipping a thousand beats from the anticipation he was feeling.  He gets paranoid, fearing the kid may see the thing thumping away beneath his chest.  He pushes that thought to the back of his head and quickly changes the direction of his thoughts as he looks at the side of Ian’s face as they walk.  His eyebrows are stitched in a frown, hidden just beneath his red hair brushing his forehead and his lips pressed tight.  His eyes are blocks ahead of their steps.  Something’s up.

“The fuck’s this about?” Mickey finally asks, breaking the silence.

Ian turns his head slowly towards him, and focuses his eyes on his lips.  “Nothing,” he responds.  He flashes that signature crooked smile and Mickey’s certain he’s been baited.  Nevertheless, he can’t bring himself to give a shit.  They continue to walk at a steady pace, stealing glances along the way. 

Ian didn’t think Mickey’s text of “b there” meant he’d actually _be there_ right when he needed him.  And it’s for no particular reason, other than the fact that he can’t seem to shake their last encounter.

It’s a wonder really, and he thinks to himself if Mickey will ever make himself available like this again.

*

A couple of bangs and the front door swings open.

“What the fuck?!” Mickey bites.   

Ian’s lungs burn and his knees are wobbly from running the entire way there.  He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he ran as he takes in the sight of Mickey’s face, his eyes slightly red around the rim and his father screaming in the background.  Ian doesn’t care that his presence is kind of a shock given his greeting.  Maybe he shouldn’t ask him – but he does.

“I need to see you.”

This time it isn’t a text, but coming straight from his mouth.  Ian stares at Mickey, the words, _‘not a good time,’_ muted by the sound of his own heartbeat.  He looks around anxiously, struggling to catch his breath he’s so nervous. 

“I – I don’t know where else to go.”

Ian’s voice is shaky, his hands gripping the bottom of his coat as he waits for Mickey to turn him down.  And even if he does, it was worth a try, just the idea of him actually coming to him when he needed him more than enough.  He tells him about Linda having his ass, still expecting him to tell him to fuck off.  His breath catches in his chest at the next words out of Mickey’s mouth.

“I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

Feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, Ian runs down the street again, this time headed for the Kash and Grab, not caring about the burn in his lungs.  He’s smiling without realizing, his mother’s face fading as he thinks of blue eyes and dark hair.

Mickey meets him in fifteen. 

They end up in the cooler, their bodies angled and thrusting.  Mickey pretends he doesn’t feel Ian’s hand on top of his, gripping, squeezing, while he lets everything inside of him go.  Ian pretends he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

All that matters anyway is that Mickey’s there, when he said he’d be there.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a rather spontaneous message containing a short fic written by Nataly, and I added my parts to it and we made it a one shot. Normally, I don't really write anything further back than Season 3, and I rarely write canon compliant, so I thought this was a nice change. I have always had this head canon though, that Ian so readily ran to Mickey in Season 1 when Monica returned because Mickey had been there for him before when he needed him (for whatever reason). So yeah, here you go. Hope you enjoyed. :)))


End file.
